Three Years
by dadsonahuntingtrip
Summary: It's been three years since Sherlock jumped. John's not taking it very well. But, maybe his wishes will be granted when there's an unexpected knock at the door. Rated for swearing and boykisses


**A/N This is my first fanfiction, but I've been reading them for a long time, so I thought I'd give it a go. Thanks for reading :) **

I didn't known what was harder, the night or the day. At night sleep evaded me, and when it occasionally didn't, the nightmares came and they were almost unbearable. I would usually wake screaming, sweating and calling out for someone who wasn't there, who would never be there again. But, during the day I have to pretend. Pretend that I'm alright, pretend that I love my job, pretend that I did get sleep last night, pretend that I'm okay, although I know I'll never be okay again. Not without him. Nothing will be okay without him. Never.

I regret never telling him how I felt. That I was in love with him. How could I not be? He was brilliant. I wonder if he knew that I was in love with him, he could probably deduce a persons childhood from the way they tie their laces, but he was never very good with emotions, so I'm not sure. I wish I told him, instead of constantly bleating that "I'm not gay!". I mean I'm not gay, but, I am in love with him. That brilliant, beautiful, most probably asexual, married to his work, man.

It's been three years. Three years since the best thing in my life jumped off a god damn building. At first I was upset, then angry, then in denial. Now I feel empty, incomplete. I need him. Everything fell apart when he left. I should have done something. Been a better friend, been there for him when he obviously needed me. He should of confided in me.

I honestly tried to leave the flat. I got myself a nice little apartment quite a bit away from 221b Baker Street. Away from all the painful memories, and the constant reminders of the way things used to be. It lasted 5 days. If I thought being around all of his things was hard, not being around them was excruciating. Mrs Hudson welcomed me back with open arms. She's far too good to me.

I got myself a job at a new clinic. Fresh start and all that. I don't really communicate with anybody there. I don't want anybody else. I want him back, but he's dead. He's not coming back, ever.

It's been so long since there's been a knock at the door, that I almost think I've imagined it, pretty much everybody has just stopped visiting, well, that's what you get when you stop returning phone calls, and refuse to go out in public unless absolutely necessary. So maybe I have finally gone crazy, and started hearing noises that aren't there. None the less I go to the door and open it to find _him._

Sherlock.

Very disheveled, even thinner and unhealthily pale. But, it was still Sherlock, my Sherlock.

I have gone crazy. This is just an illusion, obviously. People don't come back from the dead. They just don't. But here he was, looking at me like nothing had changed. But everything had. I changed.

"John" He said my name like a prayer. It sounded so right falling from those perfect lips of his.

This isn't right. Dead people don't talk and Sherlock was sure as hell dead. In saw him fall. I checked his pulse. I buried him. Is this some cruel joke? Was I asleep and dreaming? Was I imagining things due to lack of sleep? Because I won't let myself believe that he's alive, that he defied all odds and came back. Came back to me.

"John I'm alive, it was all a trick" he started tentatively "Moriarty had guns on Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and you. If I didn't jump he would have shot all of you. I couldn't have that. So I did exactly what he wanted and jumped. I've been going around and dismantling Moriarty's web, taking them all out so it would be safe for you, I'm sorry I had to make you believe I was dead for that to happen. So sorry, John, it was the only logical course of action. I faked my own death, I jumped and landed on a rubbish pie, I had already taken pills to slow my heart rate, and I had elastic bands around my arms to slow down my pulse, so you wouldn't be able to detect a pulse. It was fake blood. It was Molly who was supposed to check over my body, and she was in on it. I'm sorry I had to pretend to die. But I'm alive, John. I'm back. for good. I promise." Sherlock was speaking very fast, tripping over his words in his rush to get them all out.

I however can't find the words to speak. This can't be real. I refuse to believe it. I'm dreaming, I have to be. That's the only logical explanation for _Sherlock fucking Holmes coming back from the god damn dead! _But, if anybody was going to successfully come back from the dead it would be Sherlock. Maybe... Maybe he was here, and I'm being really stupid just standing here. Hell, even if it is a dream, I should make the most of it.

"John are you alrig-" Sherlocks words are cut off by me crashing into him and wrapping my arms hard around his waist. For a moment he tenses, but I'm not letting go. Then he visibly relaxes against me and winds his arms around my back, and rests his head atop of mine. I close my eyes and relish in every second of his touch, I can't have imagined a feeling so good in my wildest dreams, so yes, that it what it took to make me believe that my best friend was somehow back from the dead.

_Hold on a second_, I can't help but think, _he left me for three years, all alone. _I instantly pull back from him, and punch him as hard as I can across the jaw. He stumbles back, his hand flying up to his face to cup his injury. He doesn't look surprised or even angry. Just accepting. He left me, all alone. Molly and god knows how many others must have been in on it, and he couldn't tell me, his best friend! I felt so lost, so empty without him, and he was fine all along! I punch him again. Then almost as suddenly as it flared up, my rage has gone. Shit, I feel terrible now.

"I deserved that" He whispers, refusing to hold eye contact with me. He shuffles on his feet, and runs a hand through his hair, his hand shaking. The gesture is so un- Sherlock like that I'm momentarily stunned by the nervousness in his actions. When I come back to myself, I walk up to him, and without any hesitation, grab the back of his neck and pull his face down to mine, and immediately crush those full, plump, perfect lips against my own.

Sherlock responds straight away, moving his lips in time with mine. Sherlock opens his mouth a little, and I slip my tongue inside and sweep it against his own, he does the same enthusiastically, opening his mouth wider and moaning. He obviously hasn't done anything like that before, but god that man is a fast learner. I moan into his mouth and that seems to rouse something in Sherlock, who pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.

"I didn't deserve that" I barley caught the words as he spoke them so quietly. I felt something tear at my heart when he said it. We need to have a long talk about exactly what happened while he was away, but that could wait until later. "Come on" I say, tugging at his hand, pulling him towards my bedroom. Once we've clambered up the stairs, I push him back onto the bed. He stares confusedly as me, until I lay down next to him, and pull the covers over both of us. I pull him flush against me, his head resting on my chest, his arms around me, and mine around him. I swear I've never been that comfortable in my life.

But there's a question that's been bugging me. "Why now? Why have you waited three years? Why didn't you come back sooner?" The words tumble out my mouth, and I'm surprised that Sherlock can understand them, as they're barley coherent. "That was how long it took John, to make sure that you could be safe. So that I could return and know that the threat was gone, that you'd be okay. Because... Because you mean a lot to me John, and the thought that there was people out there, possibly wanting you dead was too much to handle. But they're gone now. I promise." Sherlock whispered this all into my chest, pointedly avoiding eye contact with me.

"You care about me?" I had to ask, I had to know if he felt the same way. It could destroy our friendship, or it could make it into something even better. After all, he had kissed me back earlier. "Of course, John. More than I ever intended to. I would go as far as to say that I'm probably in love with you, but I understand that you don't feel the same way about me, and that you don't even like men but I've wanted to tell you that for so long, and, as they say, no time like the present" _Fuck_. Did Sherlock Holmes just say he was in love with me? Me? Really? He has closed his eyes now, and there is a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Well here goes.

"I'm in love with you too you idiot! How could you ever think otherwise? How can you be so intelligent in some things and so clueless in others? I've cared about you since that first day at Barts! I don't want to ever be apart from you, I want you round all the time, even when you're playing that violin at three in the morning. Or leaving body parts in the fridge, or shooting the walls, or being an absolute dick to everybody! Even during all that, I couldn't possibly think of a better place to be rather than right where you are. But I don't understand. I could have sworn you were married to your work, and, apart from today, you have never shown any interest in me before."

I gulped down a deep breathe after that massive speech. Sherlock had gone uncharacteristically silent, with a confused expression on his face. "What? Have i rendered the almighty Sherlock Holmes speechless?" His head snapped up, and he looked deeply into my eyes. I felt like I could get lost in that colour, nobody had eyes quite like Sherlock, and they were beautiful.

"Yes, I do consider myself married to my work, but John, have you never noticed that you're the only one that I've ever let join me while working?" Oh. I guess I've never though of it like that. I didn't have a reply so I just pulled him closer to me, reveling in his warmth. After a few minutes, I let out a shaky breathe. "Sherlock, listen to me. You're not going to leave again. If there's a problem, we'll discuss it, you won't go running off. Understood? Because I'm not losing you again, you hear me?"

"Alright, John"

"Promise?"

"I promise"

"I love you, Sherlock"

"And I love you, John"


End file.
